


At The Beginning

by Creej



Category: White Collar
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, mentions of past violence against gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: College AU. Peter is Peter, Neal is...inexperienced and Peter's ex is something of a bitch. A story of first meeting, becoming friends then becoming more.





	At The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This story describes (in non graphic detail) the death of a young gay man at the hands of extreme homophobes.

"Peter! Wait up!"

Peter ignored the request and kept walking, his blood beginning to boil. It was Cassandra and the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to her. Despite his long strides eating the distance to his apartment, she soon caught up to him.

"Honey?"

He rounded on her, yanking free of her hold. "Don't you ever call me that again," he gritted.

"What's wrong?" Cassandra asked, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Peter repeated. "I'm not stupid. I know this is just a game to you."

"It's not a game, Peter," Cassandra said, looking hurt and confused. Peter didn't buy it.

"I heard you talking," Peter said, looming over her. He pitched his voice up to a falsetto. "He wouldn't be the first to fall for it. He's just a dumb jock anyway. Hardly worth my time. I just thought it'd be fun, letting him think we're serious before I dump his ass."

Cassandra stepped back as if slapped. "I...I was just...just kidding," she nearly stammered. "That's what those girls expect, you know. You know the type - shallow, vain, convinced they're the best thing to ever happen to guys..."

For about half a second, Peter wanted to believe her but he'd seen her expression - amused contempt. "If you even come near me, I might forget what my dad taught me about hitting girls," he said. Before she could respond, he whirled on his heel and continued walking, resisting the urge to look back to see her expression. He snorted. Dumb jock? Really? He'd never been just a jock - sports had never been his life. He enjoyed playing but they weren't his life.

He calmed once he entered his apartment - the familiar furnishings, the wall of books and nothing to remind him of Cassandra eased his anger. For months he'd thought they were dating but the overheard conversation had disabused him of the idea that they were even friends.

He made his way to his room and flopped down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. Staring at the ceiling, he came to the decision that he was done with women - Cassandra had been the last straw. AS he lay there, he recalled every time she made a disparaging or condescending remark, how she'd tried to pass it off as a joke or just ribbing and he frowned, remembering how she'd almost off-handedly belittled his idea of maybe applying to the FBI Academy. At the time, it hadn't been a serious consideration, just an idea but now...

He sat up, reaching for his laptop. The Bureau's website should be able to tell him what he needed to do to apply, right? Before he could check, there was a knock on the door. With a somewhat resigned sigh, he got up to answer it, hoping it wasn't Cassandra - and if it was, hoping she wouldn't try to talk him into believing he'd been mistaken. "If that's you, Cassandra, I don't want to hear it," he called.

"Umm, no, not Cassandra," the man standing on the other side said when Peter opened the door. "Neal. Neal Caffrey. I just moved in down the hall."

"Oh, sorry," Peter said. "What can I do for you?"

"As cliche as it sounds, a cup of sugar," Neal said. "I ran out and _really_ need my coffee. I don't know my way around that well just yet so..."

Something about him made Peter offer, "If you're not too much of a coffee snob, I could put on a pot...if you like."

Neal looked surprised but said, "If it's not too much of a problem. And I'm not a coffee snob. I don't have the resources to be picky. As long as it has caffeine, I'm good."

"Come on in," Peter said. "Have a seat."

Almost hesitantly, Neal stepped inside, his eyes going immediately to the bookcase. "A reader, I see," he said. "What are your preferences?"

"Don't have one really," Peter said from the small kitchen. "I have historical fiction, nonfiction, sci fi and fantasy, crime, mystery, you name it."

"Textbooks," Neal said. "You're in school?"

"Senior," Peter said, joining him. "You?"

"Not yet," Neal said. "Waiting for my transcripts. And for them to accept the fact that I'm old enough to be in college." That last was said with a self deprecating but amused smile.

"You look old enough to me," Peter said. "You're what? Twenty? Twenty one?"

"Nineteen," Neal said. "A bit young to be a college junior."

"So you're smart," Peter said. "I would have been in your position but..." He shrugged. "Family matters delayed my admittance."

"So, what's your major?"

"Accounting," Peter said.

"Hoping for a place at some Fortune 500 company, maybe?" Neal asked.

"I was," Peter said. "Actually, I was considering the FBI."

"As an agent?" Neal asked interestedly. "Sounds exciting."

Peter shrugged. "I was thinking Financial Crimes if there's an open spot when I graduate," he said. "White Collar."

"Ah. Like Madoff and those Enron guys," Neal said with a nod.

"What's yours?" Peter asked.

"Don't laugh but it's Art History," Neal said.

"Teaching?" Peter asked.

"I'd like to," Neal said. "Or maybe be an authenticator for a museum. Work my way up to being a curator..."

"Seems to me if you're an authenticator, you could make more money," Peter said. "You wouldn't necessarily be tied to one particular museum."

"My own business?" Neal asked curiously. "Huh. Never thought of that."

"I don't know much about it but yeah, why not?" Peter said. "Museums, private collectors. And you could still teach if you wanted." He glanced into the kitchen. "Coffee's done," he said. As he retrieved a couple of mugs from the cupboard, Neal took a seat at the tiny kitchen table, nodding his thanks when Peter placed a mug of coffee in front of him and slid the sugar over.

"So, if I can ask, who's Cassandra?" Neal asked the hurriedly added, "If it's none of my business, just say so."

Peter thought for a moment as he spooned sugar into his own coffee and added a splash of creamer. "I thought she was my girlfriend," he said. "But I found out I was mistaken."

"She lead you on?" Neal asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Peter said. "It didn't end well."

"Well, from what I see and what little I know about you, I've come to the conclusion that she's an idiot," Neal said. "I mean, I can tell you're smart, you're ambitious and, if I may say so, a very handsome man."

Peter's brows rose at that last. Objectively, he knew he wasn't hideous but he'd never been called handsome by anyone, much less another man.

"I'm sorry, "Neal said. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, I'm not embarrassed," Peter said. "Just...surprised. Not used to getting that particular compliment."

"Really? Is this Cassandra blind as well as stupid?" Neal asked then apologized again. "I usually don't just blurt out what's on my mind."

"To be honest, it's kind of refreshing," Peter said, smiling a little. "And she isn't stupid, not really, just...maybe a little cruel and shallow."

"One of the mean girls," Neal said. "Yeah, been there, done that, didn't even get the T-shirt."

"I'm usually a better judge of character," Peter said. "My dad said my gut is almost infallible on that but Cassandra..." He shook his head. "Maybe I just didn't want to believe it."

"Let me guess - beautiful, classy, intelligent..." Neal said.

"Yeah," Peter said.

"And what does your gut say about me?" Neal asked.

Peter regarded him for a moment. "Well, from our short association, I know you're smart, you like art..."

"But those are things I told you," Neal said. "Not what your gut says."

"Okay, my gut says you're a decent person, you'd be a good friend, you're hard working, honest, when the people you care about hurt, so do you..."

"Your gut tells you all that?" Neal asked, sipping his coffee.

"Maybe not specifically," Peter said. "But I get the sense that overall, you're a good person."

"I like to think I'm a good person but most people think they are," Neal said. "I guess time will tell if you're right about me."

"I think you are," Peter said. "But yeah, time will tell, I guess."

Neal finished his coffee and stood. "I should get going," he said. "Still have a bit of unpacking to do and I'm tired of tripping over boxes. Until I moved, I didn't realize I had so much _stuff_.

"You couldn't leave it at home?" Peter asked as he filled a small container with the promised sugar and they walked to the door.

"No home to leave it at really," Neal said with a shrug. "Long story but it was either bring it or toss it and I didn't want to leave it behind."

"Maybe you'll tell me someday," Peter said.

Neal smiled. "Perhaps," he said. "thanks for the coffee...and the sugar."

"There's a grocery store not far from here," Peter said. "Not a large selection but they have the basics and not too pricey."

"Well, until my transcripts get here, I have time to explore, learn my way around," Neal said. "Thanks again."

Peter looked at the door thoughtfully after Neal left, going over his impressions of him. One thing he hadn't told Neal was his gut told him Neal was attracted to him - and he had to admit the feeling was mutual. He'd known for years that his orientation was more central than most people he knew - he'd had his first boyfriend a few years before his first girlfriend and his first intimate encounter had been with a man. He shook his head and returned to the kitchen. He wasn't ready for another relationship just yet, not so soon after Cassandra.

After rinsing the mugs and turning off the coffeepot, he settled on the couch to watch the game, half listening to it as he made plans to head to the Federal Building and find out what he needed to do to apply to the Academy, admitting to himself that it was partly Cassandra's casual dismissal of his idea that made him curious. "Special Agent Peter Burke," he said to himself, liking the way it sounded.

 

Neal stood in the middle of his living room where only a few boxes remained to be unpacked - mostly books and clothes. His mind wasn't on what he still needed to do however, but on Peter. When he'd knocked on the door, he hadn't been expecting to come face to face with his personal ideal. He dropped into a chair, grabbing a sketchbook and pencil, quickly drawing a portrait of his neighbor. It had been a while since he'd been attracted to a man as strongly as he was to Peter but he knew Peter might not lean that way - his way. After all, he'd just broken up with his girlfriend. He paused. From what Peter had said, this Cassandra hadn't really been his girlfriend, she'd only let him think she was. He felt an instant's hate for her but pushed it aside - he didn't know her, he only knew what Peter had told him and he was understandably biased against her. Still, it couldn't hurt to get to know her if he could. 

He finished the sketch and sat looking at it for a few minutes, allowing himself a brief fantasy of him and Peter exploring each other leisurely as they kissed. He sighed, shaking his head to dispel the image and set the sketch aside before tackling the rest of the boxes. In the last one, at the bottom, was a picture of his last - and only - boyfriend and he ran his thumb over the face. They'd had to pretend to be just friends because in their community, their small town, "their kind" weren't welcome. With a sigh, he put it away in his closet, a wave of nostalgia and grief washing over him as he remembered what had happened to Kenny - a fate he'd escaped by running, leaving the bigoted little town behind. He hadn't even visited Kenny's grave before he'd left. Maybe someday, he'd go back, lay some flowers and apologize. Apologize for not getting him out of there, for making the slip that had exposed him. It had been an innocent kiss but someone had seen them and word had spread - Kenny was an immoral faggot, an abomination not to be tolerated. Neal had watched in horror as the shoving had turned into hitting and kicking...then the vicious beating until he'd stopped moving, stopped breathing. Neal hadn't waited until they came after him. He'd gone home, packed what little he had and hopped the first bus out of town. He'd only been fifteen. A year later, he'd gotten his GED and applied for college. Getting a scholarship had been fairly easy despite his age but as it was, the scholarship only covered tuition and textbooks - housing was on him unless he wanted to live on campus. After what had happened to Kenny, Neal wasn't too keen on living in a dorm and perhaps suffering the same fate should people find out his orientation. So, he found himself working two jobs to pay for the apartment he'd found close to campus. It was tough but he was glad to have found the place - because he'd met Peter, despite the possibility that Peter wouldn't see him as a romantic partner.

 

Three weeks later, Neal knocked on Peter's door. "Hey, would you mind being my guide until I learn my way around campus?" he asked when Peter answered.

"Your transcripts came?"

"Yeah, yesterday," Neal said. "My classes start next week. Earliest I could get in."

"I could give you a quick tour tomorrow," Peter said. "I have a light day - only two classes."

"That'd be great," Neal said. "Thanks. What time do you get finished?"

"One o'clock. Meet you here at one thirty?"

"Sounds like a plan," Neal said. He hesitated a moment then asked, "Then maybe have lunch?"

"Sure," Peter said. "I know this place not far from campus - a bit off the beaten path. Not many students know about it. Nice place."

"I'll trust your judgement," Neal said. He let out a breath. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, one thirty." He was excited as he returned to his apartment - he would be spending a good part of the day with who he admitted was his idee fixe. When he got back, he sat down with his sketchbook and started to draw yet another picture of Peter then realized it could be considered a little creepy and tore the page out, crumpled it into a ball and launched it toward the trashcan, setting the book aside.

He got up and paced, restless and excited as he contemplated spending the day with Peter, wondering if he at least suspected how he felt. He hadn't been obvious but Peter was smart - too smart not to have at least an inkling. Calming himself, he sat down again and picked up his sketchbook. Turning to a blank page, he began another sketch - this time of an old, beloved face. It had been years since he'd drawn Kenny but he saw his face as if he sat before him. As he drew, he realized Peter bore more than a passing resemblance to his old flame - both had the dark hair and eyes and while Kenny hadn't had the broad shoulders and long legs that Peter had, Neal knew he would have if he'd lived.

 

The next day, Neal took a deep breath as he stood outside Peter's door. He'd spent the last two hours almost agonizing over what to wear before reminding himself sternly that it wasn't a date, for God's sake - Peter was just going to show him around campus then they were going to grab lunch. That was it. He had to pay attention so he didn't end up getting lost his first week. Taking one last calming breath, he knocked.

"Hey. Ready to go?" Peter asked when he answered.

"All set," Neal said, surreptitiously admiring the line of Peter's back as he locked up.

They easily fell into step as the walked the short distance to campus. He knew what some buildings contained just from the architecture - the Arts building was unmistakable as was Engineering - but Neal let Peter tell him anyway.

The tour didn't take long since the campus wasn't a large one and Neal was confident he wouldn't have trouble navigating his way from class to class. He started a little when he felt Peter's hand at the small of his back as he was steered onto a side street just off campus.

"An actual diner, huh?" he asked, seeing the place. "I didn't think those were still around."

"We're in luck today," Peter said. "We may be able to get a table instead of sitting at the counter. Sometimes this place is packed."

"You come here a lot?" Neal asked when a waitress gave Peter a quick wave when they entered.

"Often enough," Peter said as they slid into a booth. "Food's good, they don't skimp and it won't break your budget. Most kids on campus prefer...more upscale."

"Where they get a lot less for a lot more," Neal said, smiling a little.

"Hey Peter," the waitress said as she came over. "Who's your friend?"

"Hey Jill, this is Neal. He's a new transfer," Peter said.

"You ready or do you need a bit?" Jill asked, pen poised over pad.

"What do you recommend?" Neal asked.

"Just about everything," Jill said, her mouth quirked in a smile. "But my personal favorite is the roast beef hotshot."

"Bread, mashed potatoes and roast beef covered in gravy," Peter explained then turned to Jill. "You know, I'll have that."

"Sounds good," Neal said. "Me too."

"Drinks?"

"Sweet tea if you have it," Neal said.

"A soda for me," Peter said.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," Neal said when Jill put two fully loaded plates in front of them a few minutes later. "I'm not sure I'll be able to finish."

"Don't worry about it," Peter said. "My treat."

"But..."

"You're working two jobs, Neal," Peter said. "I know money's tight." He smiled a little. "You can pay me back when you're a highly sought after authenticator."

"Maybe I'll find a forgery and you'll catch the guy who did it," Neal said. "Congrats on being accepted, by the way."

"I have a while to wait," Peter said. "Minimum age is twenty three. But thanks. Here's hoping I don't wash out and humiliate myself. They warned me it would be tough."

"Well, if you do wash out - and I don't see it - you'll have at least tried," Neal said. He tipped his glass at Peter. "Here's to the future Special Agent Peter Burke," he said and was rewarded with a smile.

 

Over the next few weeks, Neal settled into his routine which included lunch with Peter at least twice a week and those were the days he really looked forward to. Unfortunately, they didn't share any classes but each was a frequent visitor in the other's apartment. About two months in, Neal was taking advantage of some rare down time - no classes and no work - and sat in the quad, sketching the scenery when he overheard two women talking a short distance away.

"Wow, he's pretty. Marcy, look..."

 

Cassandra nudged her friend, directing her attention to the slim, dark haired man with a pad of paper.

"Must be new," Marcy said. "I've never seen him."

"Must be," Cassandra said. "I'd have remembered anyone that gorgeous."

"So...go introduce yourself," Marcy said, giving her a little push. "I dare you."

"Oh, you did _not_ just do that," Cassandra said. "Fine. Watch my stuff." She stood, smoothing back her hair and brushing off her slacks before approaching the stranger. "Hi, excuse me," she said. "I'm Cassandra Mitchell. And you are...?"

"Neal Caffrey," he said, taking the offered hand and shaking it briefly.

"So, you're new?"

"Transferred a few months ago," Neal said.

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere you've heard of, I'm sure," Neal said. "Barely a dot on the map." He glanced around as if looking for someone. "Your boyfriend won't mind you talking to another man? I don't want any trouble."

"Sadly, no boyfriend," Cassandra said. "Not now, anyway."

"Sorry. May I ask what happened?"

"He overheard something I said and took it completely out of context," Cassandra said. "Wouldn't let me explain, so..." She shrugged. "Sometimes Peter could be a little too sensitive...and stubborn." She regarded him a moment. "And you? Girlfriend?"

"No, no girlfriend," Neal said.

"So you're not seeing anyone?"

"Sort of," Neal said. "It's not serious but I'm hoping."

"So, what's your major? Mine's Business Management," Cassandra said.

"Art History," Neal said and noticed when Cassandra's interest seemed to cool a little. "I figure I could go into authenticating. I hear I could make a good living at it, maybe travel some. I've always wanted to see New York. Lots of well respected museums there."

"It's a tough field to get into," Cassandra said. "So, a little unsolicited advice, maybe you could find something a bit more...practical."

"Well, I could always teach," Neal said. "I've been told I have some talent and I'm good with people, no fear of public speaking." He shrugged. "But I'll give what you said some thought. I'm not limiting my options." He closed his sketchbook. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for my next class. It was nice meeting you, Cassandra."

"The pleasure was mine," Cassandra said. She watched as he walked off, not hiding the fact that she was ogling his ass.

"So?" Marcy asked, joining her.

"Neal Caffrey," Cassandra said then added with a touch of distaste. "Art History. Wants to be an authenticator."

"A bit pansy maybe," Marcy said. "But damn, he's gorgeous. That more than makes up for it."

"Yeah," Cassandra said thoughtfully. She smiled. "Marcy, I think I'll keep him."

"You'll have to get him first," Marcy pointed out.

"You think I can't?" Cassandra asked a little challengingly.

"Depends on how attached to his girlfriend he is," Marcy said. "A guy who looks like that has to have one."

"He said he doesn't, not really," Cassandra said. "But I'd like to meet the girl who managed to get his attention. See what I'm up against."

 

Unbeknownst to either woman, Neal had heard part of their conversation. Once again, he was surprised at the assumption that just because of his appearance he was straight. Even though he didn't broadcast his orientation, he made no particular effort to hide it so far from where he grew up. As it stood, he really didn't have the time or inclination to get involved with anyone - unless it was with Peter. Their schedules coincided enough that they were able to spend a fair amount of time together and Peter was happy to help him out with classes that weren't specific to his major. He'd found that Peter shared his interest in art though he didn't have the same level of passion that Neal did and had confessed that his artistic ability didn't go further than stick figures. Neal didn't care. Peter had been willing to spend hours, sometimes, paging through Neal's art books, discussing the artists, their techniques and subjects. When Neal had asked, Peter had told him he got his interest from his mother, like Neal himself. As he got to know the other man better, he realized he could settle for just being friends even though he still hoped for more. And he was positive he'd caught an answering look of interest from Peter a few times when Peter hadn't been aware he was looking.

 

Peter sat back and rubbed his eyes. It was late and he'd been staring at the equations and numbers in his textbook for hours - long enough for them to start blurring and running into each other - when Neal's distinctive knock came at the door. With something close to relief, he went to answer.

"Bad time?" Neal asked uncertainly when he saw how tired Peter looked.

"No, not at all," Peter said. "I needed a break anyway. Been cramming for midterms."

"Yeah, me too," Neal said as he entered. "That, and I've had extra shifts since we have a few out sick."

"I'm surprised you're still standing," Peter said, giving him a light push toward the couch. "Sit. I'll put on some coffee if you want."

"Sounds good. I could use the boost," Neal said, dropping onto the couch. He paused a few moments. "Your ex girlfriend. Cassandra, right?"

"Yeah, Cassandra Mitchell," Peter said. "Why?"

Neal sighed. "She's been...very attentive to me lately," he said. "And I don't know what to do."

"Are you interested?" Peter asked, handing him a mug. "I mean, if you are, I don't have a problem with it if that's what you're worried about."

Neal hunched forward a little, staring into his coffee. "No, I'm not interested," he said. "I'm not..." He paused. "I think you know me well enough to have figured out I don't lean that way. I'm not into women."

"And you should know me well enough to know that I don't care about that," Peter said. "To me, gender is an optional check box."

Neal's gaze snapped up to meet Peter's. "But you're not..." he started. "You had a girlfriend."

"I've had boyfriends too," Peter said. "It's been awhile but, yeah." Slowly, as if to give Neal plenty of time to protest, he reached for him, laying his hand against Neal's face, watching as his eyes closed. "Really?" he asked softly.

"Almost since I first knocked on your door," Neal said. "I haven't said anything because..."

"You weren't sure," Peter said.

Neither knew who moved first but suddenly their lips met in a soft kiss. It was Peter who pulled back but kept his hand where it was, his thumb gently stroking Neal's cheek. "So, we've been dating these past few months?" Peter asked a little teasingly.

Neal laughed. "I guess?" He sobered. "It'll be hard for me to be...open about it," he said. "It's not that I'm ashamed, it's just..."

"What happened?"

Neal gripped his mug, averting his gaze. "My last boyfriend - my _only_ boyfriend - was beaten to death because someone saw us kiss," he said tightly. "I couldn't do anything to stop it and I just...just packed my stuff and ran. I couldn't stay there, waiting for them to get to me..." He took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath. "I was only fifteen..." he whispered.

Peter lifted the mug from Neal's hands and set it aside before pulling him against him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That's something that never should have happened, something you never should have seen. I can't even begin to imagine how terrified you must have been."

Neal closed his eyes, gripping the back of Peter's shirt, grateful beyond words that he hadn't been disgusted, hadn't pushed him away. And he never wanted to leave the safety of Peter's embrace. "So what do I do about Cassandra?" he asked, voice muffled against Peter's shoulder.

"Tell her you're not interested," Peter said. "Not in her or in any woman. If she doesn't believe you..." He pulled back a little, his expression a little mischievous. "Let me know and we'll make out right in front of her. I certainly wouldn't find it a hardship."

Neal laughed. "Do we have to wait for her to be there?"

"Nope," Peter said. "Though, to be honest, I wouldn't mind seeing her expression."

"Schadenfreud?"

"Maybe a little," Peter admitted. "She's...not nice."

"She told me you overheard something," Neal said. "Something you took out of context."

"No, I didn't take it out of context," Peter said. "I heard the whole conversation. And saw her expression. Our relationship was a game to her and I wasn't the first one. She'd done it before."

"I was right," Neal said, leaning against him. "She _is_ stupid." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I could stay right here, you know?"

"You could," Peter said. He sat Neal up. "Come on. It's late and we're both beat."

Neal glanced toward the bedroom. "My apartment's just down the hall..."

"And you're so tired, you'd fall asleep halfway there," Peter said. "Come on, my bed can sleep two." Catching Neal's somewhat anxious look, he added, "Just to sleep. As much as I'd like to, I'm just not up for it."

Neal couldn't help his relieved sigh or the blush that stained his cheeks. "I've...I've never...you know..."

"You were fifteen," Peter said. "I never assumed you had." He leaned in and brushed his lips against Neal's, whispering, "And I'd be honored if you let me be your first."

Neal caught his breath, seeing the heat in Peter's eyes and wished he wasn't so damned tired. "I'd...I'd like that," he said.

"I look forward to it," Peter said. He stood and pulled Neal to his feet. "Now, off to bed. I think I have something you could wear. May be a little big but they'll do."

Though Peter wouldn't have minded getting a better look, he gave Neal some privacy and changed in the bathroom, finding Neal already in bed and half asleep when he finished. As soon as he slid in beside him, Neal wrapped himself around him, putting his head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Neal whispered against his neck.

"You're welcome," Peter said softly, sensing it was for more for accepting him than the place to sleep.

 

Peter woke to the somewhat unfamiliar sensation of a warm body next to his and turned to see Neal beside him, still sleeping peacefully. As much as he hated to wake him up, he knew they both had early classes that day. Before he could do more than push the covers down, Neal opened his eyes.

"Morning," he said with a sleepy smile.

"Sleep well?" Peter asked.

"Better than I have in a while," Neal said.

"I hope it was the company," Peter said.

"That was a big part, I think," Neal said as they sat up. Almost before he realized what was happening, Peter's mouth was on his - nothing forceful or demanding, just a light tease of his tongue against his lips. "Wow, I could get used to that," he said, lightly touching his mouth, aware of the warmth in his face.

"If you want," Peter said. "At the very least, you could quit one of your jobs..."

Neal's eyes widened when he realized what Peter was suggesting. "You mean...move in together?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "It makes sense. I'm either at your place or you're over here...and I liked waking up next to you."

"Me too," Neal said. "So...I'm free this weekend...it wouldn't take long..."

"This weekend then," Peter said. He glanced at the clock. "Unfortunately, we have to get up," he said then sighed. "Thank God midterms will be over soon."

"Yeah, too bad we can't skip them," Neal said as he located his clothes.

"You can return those later," Peter said, indicating the pajama pants Neal wore. "I doubt anyone would care if they saw you in them."

"I'd just tell them they're my boyfriend's," Neal said, trying for casual.

"Well, they are," Peter said. "Now get or we'll both be late."

 

It took longer than expected for Neal to move his things into Peter's apartment - both being busy with midterms - but it was with a sense of excitement and accomplishment that Neal put the last of his things away. And it was with relief from both when they finished the last of their midterm exams. It was then that Peter discovered Neal could cook - better than he could and he was no slouch - and regularly let Neal take over the kitchen.

"Where'd you learn to cook?" Peter asked one evening over dinner.

"Mostly trial and error," Neal said. "My mom taught me some."

"Did she know?" Peter asked.

"I think she suspected," Neal said. "Even if she knew for sure, she didn't dare say anything."

"Tell me about it?"

Neal pushed his empty plate to the side. "I think I knew when I was about thirteen. I had friends who were girls but I wasn't interested in them, not the way boys that age are. Mom kinda wondered why not but she never pushed me, figuring I just hadn't found anyone I was interested in. It was a small town, all the kids essentially grew up together so it was a reasonable explanation. Kenny...well he was the one I was attracted to. And I could tell the feeling was mutual. We both knew what could happen if people suspected - the homophobia wasn't exactly subtle - so we were careful, pretended to just be close friends. Then...well...we slipped, _I_ slipped, kissed him outside his door. We didn't know anyone was there, could see, it was late...we thought we were safe..." He paused, gripping Peter's hand when he took it. "A few weeks later, I saw a bunch of the older kids shoving him around, yelling at him, calling him faggot, abomination...then the hitting and kicking started. Next thing I know, he was on the ground, being beaten with anything they could get their hands on. I don't know how long I stood there, how long they beat him. When they finally stopped, he didn't move, wasn't breathing." Taking a shaky breath, he finished, "I barely recognized him. My first thought was I had to get out of there so I packed up and left. Didn't tell anyone, not even Mom, just took the first bus, didn't care where it was going as long as it was away."

"What happened to the kids who did it?" Peter asked. "Were they charged?"

Neal snorted a derisive laugh. "Probably not," he said. "The way that town was, they probably wrote it off as a car accident...you know, hit by a car and run over, no one saw the driver or got a plate."

"I'm glad you got out," Peter said. "Sorry about the circumstances though."

"Well, now that I've completely killed the mood..." Neal said.

"Hey, I asked," Peter said. He stood and gathered the dishes, putting them in the sink.

"You're the only one I ever told the whole story to," Neal said quietly.

"I'm glad you felt safe enough to tell me," Peter said. He tilted Neal's chin up. "You know I'd never do anything to you...or let anyone else..."

A slightly impish smile curved Neal's mouth. "Well, I _hope_ you'll do something to me," he murmured, stepping close. 

Peter's breath hitched as Neal cupped him through his jeans a little hesitantly, as if unsure. "I can wait until you're ready, _really_ ready..." he said a bit unsteadily.

"Peter, I've been waking up next to you for weeks," Neal said. "And it's not just the artist in me that wants to see - and feel - every part of you." He looked at him a little uncertainly. "But if I ask you to not do something or to stop, will you?"

"Of course," Peter said immediately. "Nothing you don't want. I just want you to be _sure_."

In response, Neal pulled him back to the bedroom, his gaze steady on Peter's as he began undressing him. "Please. I want this," he said quietly. "With you."

The quiet assurance in Neal's voice decided him and he began undressing the other man, taking the opportunity to admire the body he'd studiously only gotten glimpses of before. He thought Neal was perfect. Once he was laid out on the bed, Peter began at his mouth and slowly worked his way down, sensing Neal hadn't done much more than heavy petting, if that.

 

Neal had to remind himself to breathe as he felt Peter's mouth and hands move over him. This was so far past what he and Kenny had done there was really no comparison. Peter was reading his body, reading his responses, finding out what he liked, what he didn't. A cry escaped him when Peter's mouth closed over his cock and sucked gently, doing things with his tongue he would have thought impossible. Before he could choke out a warning, he stiffened and his back arched as he came.

 

Peter sat back, savoring the taste of his roommate, his lover, his partner, knowing with absolute certainty that he was the first to do this for him and he was fiercely glad that no one else had. He waited patiently for Neal to recover, ignoring his own arousal for the moment. "You okay?" he asked, smiling a little.

"Wow, just...wow," Neal said, sounding a little dazed. "I...I never knew...never thought..."

"If you want, if you're ready, there's more," Peter said. He shivered a little when Neal ran his fingers up his length and wrapped a hand around him and slowly stroked.

"Will it hurt?" Neal asked hesitantly. "I mean, I understand the concept, the mechanics..."

The best course of action, Peter decided, was honesty. "It will, a little," he said. "But I'll do everything I can to make sure I don't hurt you too much." He shrugged a little. "I know I'm a bit more...generously endowed than average," he said. "But I won't deliberately hurt you."

Neal nodded. "I trust you," he said.

After searching his face for a long moment, Peter nodded and reached into the bedside table, taking out a bottle of lube. "Do you trust me?" he asked. "To go in bare? No condom."

Neal pulled him down, kissing him hard. "Do it," he whispered a little fiercely. "I want to feel you. Nothing between us."

Peter took a shuddering breath, feeling the weight of responsibility but he couldn't deny the heat in Neal's voice, Neal's eyes.

 

Neal wasn't sure what he expected and he startled a bit when he felt Peter's finger probe gently at his entrance before slipping inside, trying to relax when Peter told him to. Bit by bit, he managed it, grateful for Peter's patience - he did nothing more until he felt Neal was ready, keeping up a soothing patter as he slowly worked him open. Neal wanted to rush but he knew Peter was taking his time for a reason, that Peter was taking care of him, making sure his first experience was a pleasant one. With that realization, he was able to completely relax - Peter had told him it would hurt a little but he wouldn't do it intentionally.

 

Peter felt the last of the tension leave Neal's body and smiled, working in a third finger, stretching as he thrust slowly. When he judged Neal was ready, he positioned himself between his legs and waited for him to nod his readiness before thrusting slowly inside, giving him time to adjust before giving him more. It was akin to torture for him since he just wanted to bury himself inside but Neal trusted him not to hurt him more than necessary. Neal gripped his shoulders tightly when he was fully inside and he stopped. "Neal?"

Neal looked at him wide eyed, his breathing quick. "Jesus, Peter..." he whispered.

"Too much?" Peter asked, a little worriedly.

"Oh, God, no," Neal said, huffing out a laugh. "It feels...wonderful."

Relieved, Peter began moving slowly and Neal put his legs around his waist. Peter noticed immediately when he began hitting Neal's sweet spot. Between them, he felt Neal grow hard again, felt the slickness of precum on his stomach as he thrust. He propped himself on one arm and, reaching between them, began stroking in time to his movements. It didn't take long but Peter wasn't surprised or disappointed when he felt the warmth of Neal's climax coat his hand. His own came when Neal tightened involuntarily around him.

"We should...I should...clean up," Neal said a little dazedly, gesturing at his stomach.

"Don't worry about it," Peter said, catching his breath. Gently, he withdrew then, with a faintly mischievous look, licked him clean. "You taste delicious," he whispered, moving back over him.

"I want..." Neal started but Peter stopped him, knowing what he was about to say.

"It can wait," Peter said. "We don't have to do everything right now."

"But I want to," Neal said. "I mean, I know I'm...new, I don't know much...I just want to return the favor, you know?"

"And you will," Peter said. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

"I don't want to," Neal said.

"I don't want you to either," Peter said. He caressed Neal's face. "I enjoyed myself," he said. "Am I mistaken in thinking you did too?"

"Of course I did," Neal said. "It was better than I thought it'd be, better then I imagined."

"And that's what matters," Peter said. He lay down, pulling him close. "Now sleep," he said. "We can be lazy tomorrow, sleep in if we want."

"Or...?"

Peter smiled. "If you want," he said. "But I'll warn you now, you'll feel it in the morning."

"Don't care," Neal said. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "Thank you for this."

Peter tilted his chin up and gave him a light kiss. "You're more than welcome."

 

"So, you and Peter," Cassandra said, startling Neal as he sat in one of his usual spots to sketch.

"Me and Peter what?" Neal asked, looking up.

"Roommates," Cassandra said, sitting beside him. "When did that happen?"

"About three months ago," Neal said. "Why is it your business?"

"What has he said about me?"

Neal stifled a sigh, closing his sketchbook. "Honestly, we don't talk about you," he said. "He told me what you did to him in broad terms but that's it. What I don't understand is why you'd do something like that to him. He's a great guy, a good friend. He thought you cared about him then he finds out you were just...playing with his feelings, like they were a joke."

"Maybe I thought they were," Cassandra said. "Besides, he didn't give me enough attention, kept blowing me off."

"I've seen his courseload," Neal said. "It's brutal. What was he supposed to do? Sacrifice everything he's working for so you don't feel neglected? And there's the way you so casually dismissed him when he showed an interest in joining the FBI. Why? Don't you think he could make it or is he just some dumb jock who isn't smart enough?"

Cassandra's face screwed up in anger and contempt. "How dare you lecture me?" she gritted. "You, some pansy ass _Art_ major who'll probably end up on the street because he can't get a job."

"Really?" Neal asked. "Just last week I spotted a possible forgery at the museum. The curator took me seriously enough to call in an authenticator and said he'd tell me the results. Told me he was impressed that I knew enough about a relatively unknown artist to suspect the painting wasn't the real deal. If I can do that at twenty, just think what I could do by the time I graduate. Hell, I practically got a job offer on the spot."

"Who's the artist?" Cassandra asked challengingly. "And no making shit up. I'll check."

"Haustenberg," Neal said. "It was _Young Girl With Locket_. Go ahead, look it up." With a sense of relief, he saw Peter crossing the quad and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I have a date," he said. Without really planning it, when he reached him, he cupped his face and took his mouth in a deep kiss.

"Well, hello to you too," Peter said when Neal released him.

"I just...needed that," Neal said, resting his forehead against the other man's. "God, she's so...aggravating...self centered...unfeeling..."

"Neal..." Peter set him back a little. "Who?"

Neal glanced back over his shoulder to see Cassandra looking comically surprised. "I take it she didn't know you played for both teams," he said.

"Never came up," Peter said. "I doubt she would have listened anyway." He regarded Neal for a moment, a smile touching his mouth. "That was a rather...interesting way to come out," he said.

"I guess," Neal said. "But I'm not sorry I did."

"You shouldn't be," Peter said. "So, want to make sure she knows she wasn't seeing things?"

"Is she watching?"

"Do you care?"

"Not really," Neal said. "Your turn."

"Not keeping score but sure," Peter said. With a quick glance at Cassandra - she was looking - Peter drew Neal back in and kissed him long and slow, his hands dropping to Neal's ass and he squeezed, feeling the immediate response.

"Careful there, Peter," Neal murmured. "Or I might do something more than kiss."

"I look forward to it," Peter said and kissed him again. They were both startled when a few wolf whistles pierced the air. When they broke apart, they saw more than a few students walk past and give them the thumbs up. Some even clapped. Cassandra, on the other hand, looked pissed as she stormed off.

Neal ran his hands down Peter's arms, grasping his hands. "I admit I was worried about...reactions, but..."

"This isn't where you grew up," Peter said. "You're not the only one."

"Well, there's you..."

"Besides me," Peter said.

"Really?"

"Really," Peter said. "You don't have to advertise but you don't have to hide it, not anymore."

Neal's mouth quirked. "After what just happened, I might as well have taken out a full page ad in the paper," he said.

Peter wrapped an arm around Neal's shoulders. "Did I hear you say something about a date?"

"I thought I should tell her something before I made my escape," Neal said as they walked back toward their apartment.

"Was it just an excuse?"

"Doesn't have to be," Neal said. "Rocco's?"

"Sounds good," Peter said then whispered seductively in his ear. "Then you for dessert."

 

Five Years Later...

 

"Found another one?" Peter asked, showing his badge to the curator.

"Mr. Caffrey was called in when we suspected," the man said. "For some reason, our forger likes our collection. This is the fourth, I believe." He sighed. "Unfortunately, I know the routine. I'll have what you need in a few minutes. Excuse me."

"So, I see you caught this one too, Agent Burke."

Peter turned at the voice and smiled. "My luck, I guess," he said. "Of course, it helps that I personally know one of the best authenticators in the business." He grimaced a little. "Unfortunately, whoever's behind this is very slippery. Haven't really been able to get a handle on him."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Neal said. "I know your closure rate. It's only a matter of time."

"We'll celebrate when I cuff this guy," Peter said.

"It's a date," Neal said.

"We'll have one before that," Peter said. "Or have you forgotten?"

Neal frowned. "I don't think I've forgotten anything," he said slowly. "Have I?"

"It's still a few days yet," Peter said. He stifled a laugh as he watched Neal wrack his memory for a few minutes before letting him off the hook. He leaned in and whispered, "The anniversary of the first time we made love." He leaned back and added, "I certainly found it memorable."

"You are in so much trouble, Agent Burke," Neal whispered.

"What kind of trouble?" Peter asked, unconcerned.

Neal answered with a heated look. "Just wait," he said. He stepped slightly closer, keeping an eye out for the curator as he said, "All those things you taught me? I plan on using all of them...tonight."

 

Later that evening, after dinner, while they relaxed with a drink, Neal said, "Oh, you'll never believe who I ran into the other day." At Peter's raised brows, he said, "Cassandra Mitchell."

"Huh. What's she up to?"

"Didn't have that much time to catch up," Neal said. "From what I could gather, she's some sort of event planner. We exchanged a few pleasantries and I told her what we did." He smiled a little. "I have no doubt she's fact checking," he said. "After all, she never really believed you'd become an FBI agent or that I could make a living authenticating art."

"Doesn't surprise me that you're one of the best," Peter said. "You caught your first forgery at twenty, still in school."

Neal leaned back against the arm of the couch, kicked off his shoes and placed his feet in Peter's lap. With a wicked grin, he wiggled his toes against Peter's groin. "Enough about Cassandra, about school," he said. "There are much more interesting things to talk about...if you want to talk, that is."

With a low growl, Peter leaned over, plucked the glass from his hand, wrapped his other around the back of Neal's head and pulled him in for a kiss.

Neal scrambled into Peter's lap when he released him, breathing heavily. "You said something about an anniversary? Well, I just remembered another one," he said, working on Peter's belt. He groaned softly as Peter found that one spot on his neck.

"What's that?"

"The day I...returned the favor," Neal said. "And I'd really like to relive it...right now." He reached in and began slowly stroking Peter's cock. "What do you say?"

"I say...we're overdressed and there's more room and it's more comfortable in the bed," Peter said.

"Easily remedied," Neal said, standing and pulling Peter to his feet and into the bedroom. Then, as he'd promised, he put everything Peter had taught him to very good use.


End file.
